


commonality

by silly_bone



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Additional Character Appearances/Mentions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Enemies to Mutually Miserable Bastards to "It's Complicated" Relationship Status, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Destruction, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silly_bone/pseuds/silly_bone
Summary: commonalitythe state of sharing features or attributesRegardless of his unwillingness to accept, he heard the little voice suggested time and time again that they may not be so different after all. Denial was so much easier to entertain.
Relationships: Lahabrea/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: May-U Fic Exchange 2020





	commonality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illegible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illegible/gifts).



Rarely did things go according to plan and this was a trait of life he had come to be intimately familiar with. Furthermore, he could suggest that rarely was anything ever easy. He supposed that thinking otherwise whilst deep in the depths of an Allagan facility in pursuit of a revered man of the cloth seeking to forsake his humanity for godhood was a thought of sheer folly and yet as the auracite shattered in brilliance and signaled the end of an enigmatic paragon, he entertained the opposite of two qualities of life he had come to know. With one of the pair destroyed and the other yet dazed upon his knees, the warrior dared hope that one other element would be cleared away in this hunt; the ascians’ numbers further diminished and reduced of one particularly intent to get in his way. He need not hope for terribly long.

Then the sudden arrival of his quarry threw the entire situation out of his control. Through the revelations made known from the Archbishop’s monologue, the warrior tightened his grip upon the haft of his axe, knowing well enough that things were bound to become worse. The remaining asican remained motionless. As the holy man made his ascension and brandished blessed sword against the shadowless, the hero intervened on a villain’s behalf. Neither thought nor hesitation delayed the clash of steel, buying enough time for him to turn and shout as Thordan staggered.

“Get out of here!”

Slack-jawed and unmoving, the ascian barely responded. Lahabrea did not seem to be present despite appearance suggesting otherwise. With a frustrated noise, he turned his attention back in time to parry the king’s blade as his knights began to assemble in means to support their liege in attack.

“Are you stupid?! Did your friend take all the brains with her?!” He barked, sparing a glance over his shoulder when an temporary gap allowed. The insult got a rise out of the ascian, displayed in the sudden lurch to stand. Still Lahabrea lingered, a moment of hesitation that he wouldn’t suffer and the Warrior of Light screamed, “You’re not going to get a better offer! Get out of my way and leave!”

Lahabrea took the offer, relenting in silence and dissolving into the void that gaped at his call. Steeling himself for the battle to come, the hero couldn’t quite swallow down the bitter taste in his mouth as things went poorly once more.

He couldn’t recall a fiercer battle. Nor could he stand by the end of it but at the least he did survive to see it through as well as feel the odd gratitude to witness the blood-crusted plates of Estinien stand over him. In his exhaustion, the dragoon’s voice was distant yet vaguely fond and speaking of things he couldn’t quite grasp as he was peeled off the floor. Bruised, bloodied, and battered, he felt as though he could collapse immediately if not for Estinien’s support.

Finding some clarity as he was pulled up-right, he managed a weary smile as Estinien clapped him on the shoulder. The dragoon’s eyes drifted to the eye discarded by the king’s blade.

“You have the other?” He asked, parting from the warrior’s side to retrieve the wyrm’s eye.

“Aye,” he confirmed, feeling all the more unsteady without the dragoon’s support. He kept on his feet, it was all he needed to do.

“Hand it over. We do not need the wyrm tormenting you on the journey back. You deserve the rest.”

He couldn’t disagree, he desired the rest; he desired to get back on the floor yet doubted Estinien would permit that. After a moment spent regarding the hideous eye within Estinien’s hand, the warrior shook his head. One had nearly overwhelmed him in the past.

“I can handle it,” he said, vaguely aware of the blood that seeped down the side of his face.

The Azure Dragoon’s lips thinned, a frown he nearly missed between the helm. 

Before Estinien could argue against him, he insisted, conviction overtaking the pained haze that clouded his gaze. He stared straight at him, “I can do it.”

For the time, Estinien allowed him that much, acceding to his vow with a stiff nod, “As you say. Let us quit this place. There is no need to remain.”

The Warrior of Light could not agree more.

* * *

He was present as they tied the loose ends or did their best to in the very least. Ishgard was nearly unstable, their governing system requiring an entire overhaul in the wake of the exposed revelations and absence of the Archbishop. Ser Aymeric showed promise and made many to work towards a better future for those that are and those that would be. The hero believed that he would, he never held doubt towards the knight’s conviction. It was bound to be a slow path and he had very little power to help the process of politics.

Similarly slow was the subject of missing scions and there as well was little he could do to feasibly speed the process. The beating he took was taking its toll, slow to heal and frequently acting up in irksome yet otherwise harmless ways. He was in no shape to help the search for their missing friends, a fact that bothered him to no end. They assured him it was best he recovered and not fret; that it wouldn’t aid his healing to spend it in restless motion, pacing the manor halls for hours if allowed.

Often enough he was allowed or at least never told to stop when caught. The servants of the manor couldn’t exactly stop him, although they often advised him otherwise. When they came to realize that he would finally rest if requested to do so by the Count, he began to puzzle out the schedules and find the periods where he could make his rounds without being discovered. Half-way through the process did he realize that he had been cooped up for far too long if he was plotting this far to accommodate his excess energy. In a way he did not understand, the realization seemed to sap away what energy he did have, excess or otherwise.

The manor held memories and he could not walk the length of a hall without some creeping regret catching him by the nape. The memories held were not his own nor was he privy to them, an abundance he presumed to have happened based on assumption. He wondered how many of his assumptions would have proved true. He didn't have the spine to inquire about them. The existence of unknown memories served only to be a reminder for what he had cost someone else; a son, a brother, a friend. He told himself that his injuries were what stopped him from visiting the overlook but he began to wonder. Despite the hospitality and despite the fondness he held for the family, the manor had only become colder in his lethargy. He swore to no one but himself that he would depart the city, he needed to only wait a bit longer.

The wait proved excruciating although it was merely a few days longer. With both the chirurgeon’s blessing and confirmation from his friends that they would call for him when he was required, he took his leave. Aimless atop the black chocobo, he traveled for a time through Coerthas and Dravania alike, seeking something that he suspected he would know once he found it. He hadn’t intended to settle in Idyllshire, at least not so soundly but it was a source of work and a distraction he welcomed. The inhabitants similarly welcomed him, seemingly grateful for the extra set of hands. They didn’t question his need to keep busy, they simply accomodated it.

Setting routine proved beneficial upon settling in the one-time Sharlayan settlement, a pattern to follow and carry out on the daily to keep stagnation at bay; to have something to do and to keep him distracted. It was met largely with success and gratitude, although he found that the latter was unnecessary. The appreciation of Idyllshire was pleasant albeit bordering on discomfort whenever he wondered if it was deserving of a wholly selfish pursuit. He did not think in any meaningful way when little was required from the menial tasks he fulfilled and he preferred that. It was a haze he desired; the blissful mindlessness of moving from one objective onto the next, simplicity buffering out distant complexities for a time. A distant notion whispered that it was irresponsible to be so willfully ignorant.

Ignorance brought a degree of peace, falsified or otherwise, and he knew with some reluctance it also encouraged him to deny his visitor for this long. The hero could merely pretend for a time and he doubted anyone had the right to fault him for it. He did no harm in the chores he completed and whoever followed him throughout the day certainly seemed content to merely watch if the lack of actions taken against him was any indication. He had almost begun to wonder if he imagined it; the nigh constant suspicion of being watched that he felt upon leaving the room he occupied at The Hard Place, how the hair on the back of his neck raised as he faced the door to lock it only to turn back to a familiar empty hall. Occasionally he found some of Zhloe’s kids playing in the hall, yet they were far from subtle and he could not see them hiding masterful skills with stealth to follow him throughout town without his notice. Adkiragh’s patrons were much of the same; kind enough if often loud and drunk. He was no stranger to paranoia and yet, with even all his reasoning applied, this felt somehow worse.

He decided to ignore it, acting on the notion that should it truly be something it would make itself known. Rarely did things leave him be if they desired his attention. Despite the sensation of constant observation, he carried out his routine. Mornings consisted of waking early just shy of sunrise and getting ready; eating half a loaf of bread as he dressed before setting out. After a couple minute detour to ensure Zhloe had, in fact, remembered to feed not only the children in her care but also herself, he left the establishment proper to begin his day. Checking in with Slowfix was at the top of his list, the gobbie leader periodically offered some manner of security or defense work; often enough a simple matter of chasing away or slaying overly-brazen beasts badgering their outposts. To his slight dismay, Slowfix had nothing to offer at the end of his roundabout greeting and short bout of rambling.

After a few more words exchanged, a smile, and farewell, he moved along and onto the next objective of his unspoken list. As he crossed the aetheryte plaza, he slowed his stride to all but a stop and glanced behind himself. It was quiet in the early morning or at least as quiet as a town populated by a decent number of goblins could be. There was no one beyond a few goblins who tinkered away in their work spaces off the main path. He knew as well that most of the treasure hunters would not be up and about until the midafternoon at best. With a frown and brief rub along the back of his neck, he confirmed that there was nothing to see despite the unease that haunted him.

The Bangpots proved to be a deadend as well. None of the engineers had work to offer despite being grateful for his visit. He sat for a time after being assured he wasn’t distracting their work, listening to the goblins blather on for a good while about things he couldn’t fully follow, whether it be a case of dialect or engineering jargon above his grade or potentially both, but regardless their passion for their work was admirable. He was glad for the time it passed and the moderate relief from his unease that company seemed to bring.

An incident cut his visit short as a clumsy goblin, an apprentice by his guess, mistakenly chucked the wrong material into one of the many furnaces within the workshop. A loud crack announced the sudden introduction of billowing smoke clogging up the already sweltering space. While the goblins were largely unaffected with thanks to the support of their masks diminishing the acrid smoke, he choked and coughed, covering his mouth and nose as a kindly goblin quickly thought to escort him out.

“ _Pshhh... Shkohhh…_ Many sorrys to uplander! Many, many sorrys! Chokeyfumes will clear soon if uplander wishes to return!”

Led out of the workshop and to the steps leading back down into the plaza, he bent forward. As he wheezed in the fresh air with his hands braced against his knees, he nodded a few times after taking a moment more to clear his lungs. The goblin’s fretful gesturing seemed to subside when he finally straightened up with a steady sigh.

“Aye, if not today then tomorrow,” he assured, albeit a bit hoarse in tone. The strained smile he offered seemed to ease that last of the goblin’s worries, a contented nod offered in return that had their long ears flopping in the motion. He couldn’t bring himself to be the least bit upset; Slowfix’s group only ever held good intentions.

The grating sound of metal moving against metal caught the goblin’s attention and his own a moment after. A glance back at the workshop revealed some manner of vents opening along the shop’s roof to better aid the process of dissipating the smoke that clogged the facility. He watched the smog billow out into the blue, seeing it mingle and fade before long. A faint pat against his leg pulled his attention back to the goblin and he offered a more genuine smile as they gave the typical wave before hurrying back into the workshop.

Left to carry on with his routine and dreading the fact that it was not quite the afternoon yet, he breathed a sigh and grimaced at the lingering scratch left by the smoke. Resolved to get something to drink to soothe the discomfort, he turned to descend the steps and nearly missed one as he caught something out of the corner of his eye. With a start, he gripped the railing of the stairs to catch his balance before twisting none-to-gracefully to search for what he thought he perceived down the road leading north.

There was nothing to be seen and he should have guessed, chastising himself over a black blur he glimpsed for little less than a second and chastising himself for the way his hair stood on end along his arms over nothing at all. He pried his hand free of the railing and rubbed at his eyes with the back of it, pressing his mouth into a brief frown. Shaking it off, whatever it had been, and acting natural as he dismounted the steps to the curious gazes of a few bystanders.

“Guess that smoke got to me,” he laughed, carrying on as if it was nothing. In the least he hoped it was.

The Hard Place’s business kicked in around the early evening leaving him without competition to find an empty table by the time he pushed through the establishment’s doors. Despite the lack of further mistaken sightings along the way across town, he still dropped into the open chair with a hefty breath, glad to be off his feet.

“The usual?” Adkiragh called from behind the counter, his voice unaffected by the swine mask as always. A thumbs-up acted as a muted reply and the xaela got around to serving up the drink.

He watched the room as he waited, a bit quiet at the hour; spying a few of the Greengrub workers gathered at a table for what he assumed to be their meals before their shifts. On the other side of the bar, a few treasure hunters played a round of cards. The mellow environment was far more preferable to the ruckus he heard seeping into the back rooms later at night.

Despite himself, he jumped as a drink was set on the table before him.

“Whoa, a bit twitchy lately, huh?” Mapopo raised a brow at him before grinning in jest, “You sure you don’t want something stronger?”

He managed a half-hearted laugh, “At this hour?”

“Doesn’t stop some!” She chimed, grin softening into a smile as she relented, “Give a holler if you need something, yeah?”

With a nod to assure that he would as she let him be, he drew the mug closer to himself, briefly peering into the cup to confirm before taking a drink. The usual; some concoction of fruit juices that was just sweet enough for him to not get tired of. He sipped his drink, elbows resting against the table as he took a short break and allowed for the juice to soothe a bit of the irritation left by the earlier smoke. To the noise of distant argument over a card game and the idle conversation between botanists over their meals, he allowed his eyes to drift close in momentary lapse. For a moment he felt the ease, a bit of peace albeit fleeting as the all too familiar weight began to settle. For a moment he beared it, bending under the indistinct pressure he came to associate with idleness. Equal parts external and internal; a sensation he was all too glad to avoid.

When he opened his eyes, the breath he spared was far heavier than he intended. In his lapse little had changed. He heard Mapopo reprimanding the players of the card game for growing too rowdy. He saw the botanists leave their gil upon the table with their emptied plates as they began to depart. His fingers drummed against the side of the mug, a fidgeting restlessness overcoming him. He had rested more than long enough, he decided as much as he began to rise from his seat before even finishing the final gulp of his drink. He was out the door before Mapopo could finish her farewell.

Standing at the edge of the tavern’s front porch, he reviewed his routine; Slowfix and the Bangpots had been a dead end. That left him with two options and one of which he preferred to use as a last resort. Hoping immensely that the Mudplots would spare him from the alternative, he hit the path leading north and took the short walk to reach the gardens.

The Greengrub Mudplots were far from the impressive gardens surrounding Gridania’s botany guild yet the gardeners of Idyllshire did their best with what they had and he was more than willing to lend a hand. It wasn’t quite so miserable as when he first arrived and every day seemed to bring new attempts to better cultivate the land for the various crops they tried to grow. For her limited experience in the field, Edgyth had ample determination and passion to make up for it. He sought her out, returning the waves the other gardeners offered as he made his way between the patches.

“Afternoon, Edgyth!”

Startled by the call, Edgyth wobbled in her crouch beside a collection of planters, each sporting sprouts with promising qualities. She steadied herself and glanced over her shoulder to offer a lopsided smile, “Oh hello, back again today?” 

“Of course! How can I pass up the opportunity to help out and work with nature to boot?” He asked, already getting to rolling up his sleeves.

Her smile turned a bit more natural and she stood to face him, “We’re really grateful for all you’ve done to help out but…”

“But?” He echoed, pausing halfway with his one sleeve. He certainly hoped his concern didn’t seep into his tone.

“Well, it’s just you’ve done so much and truthfully I can’t think of anything else for you to help us with right now. Also we’re starting to feel… bad for using so much of your help,” Edgyth rambled, a bit timid as she neared the end of her explanation.

“Oh,” he uttered before laughing, “That’s a relief, I thought I had messed something up.”

Edgyth looked mortified at the idea, shaking her head, “Oh, no-no! If anyone would have messed something up, it would have been me!”

“C’mon, you’ve been doing great and you’re only getting better,” he countered and waved his hand to continue as she pursed her lips as if to dispute, “But if you’re sure you don’t have anything that needs doing, then I won’t get in the way.”

“I don’t think you could get in the way!” She insisted and he smiled sheepishly over the impassioned response, “We just think you can spend your time better instead of sitting around here with nothing to do.”

He figured she was partly right; he couldn’t stand being idle but it didn’t matter much if he couldn’t find anything to do at all, better or otherwise. He rubbed the back of his neck, yielding with a small nod, “Yeah, you have the right of it.”

She picked up on his less than enthusiastic acceptance and offered gingerly, “Well, uhm, we _are_ having some supplies delivered before the next moon. I know it’s a short wait until then, but we’re going to need some extra hands with all of that. I was going to ask when the time grew closer but…”

His smile, small yet certainly grateful, seemed to be the reaction she hoped for and her shoulders eased a bit from their raised position. Edgyth returned the smile with more warmth than he could have expected, “We’ll let you know. But until then, maybe you can rest a while? You seem really weary and I don’t mean to offend.”

“Do I?” He asked with a bit of a laugh, “Well, no offense taken. I’ll consider it.”

“You’ve earned a break,” she urged just in time for another botanist to call for her attention.

He knew better than to argue, even if he disagreed. With a smile, he offered a farewell and headed on his way as Edgyth resumed her work by addressing the various questions being called across the plots. He knew some of the answers to what the gardeners asked and yet Edgyth had it well in hand despite the wavering uncertainty that she began all her responses with. It was strangely pleasant to see people grow for the better.

Tucking his hands into his pockets as he walked the path, he considered his options which had narrowed down to a last resort. With great reluctance, he watched the large building that stood at the heart of the settlement; _Rowena’s Center for Cultural Improvement._ He prefered to avoid the building and proprietress as much as he was able, haunted by the supposedly endless need for tomestones. Bracing himself, he climbed the steps to the western side entrance and noted Khloe’s absence at her stall. A brief pause spent to look around, he caught sight of the gaggle of Zhloe’s wards at play near the marketplace. With some relief to find that the kids weren’t up to trouble, he carried on, pushing through the shop’s doors.

Further relief was granted when he found Rowena’s workspace unoccupied and the girls in her employ at the stalls looking rather lax while on the clock. He breathed a sigh he didn’t recall holding as he approached the counters.

“What’ll it be?”

Hismena’s greeting was clipped but her smile suggested she wasn’t overly bothered by the interruption of an otherwise quiet period.

“Got any work?”

She huffed, almost a laugh, “That desperate, huh?”

He cracked a sheepish grin with his confession, “This wasn’t my first choice.”

“I can’t fault you for that,” Hismena clicked her tongue, leaning her hands against the counter in front of her as she considered his request. After a moment, she shrugged, “You came at a bad time. Boss left to handle other business and we’re not in a position to be handing out work without her permission.”

“No luck then?”

“No luck,” she confirmed.

He mulled it over, a moment spent rocking on his heels and soon accepted with a steady nod. With a bit of hope that his disappointment didn’t show too plainly, he offered a smile in an empty gesture as he began to turn, “Aye, well, thanks anyway.”

“Hey, try relaxing for once, yeah?” Hismena called, leaning forward on the counter as he departed, “People will start to think you’re trying to work yourself to death!”

He had little to say to that and so he said nothing, raising his hand above his shoulder in an idle wave as his feet carried him back outside.

It was only a little ways into the afternoon and he had depleted all sources of possible activity. Standing just beyond the doors, he took a deep breath and reviewed his routine. All feasible routes had been attempted with the exception of Midnight Dew but she had set out with a team to explore some manner of ruins and would not be back any time soon. He had run out of stories to share with Khloe as well and he held the sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t yet old enough to be retelling the same stories time and time again. He tapped his foot and rattled his brain for something; for any purpose to claim for the day. The breath he held left in a sharp sigh, leaving him to droop forward in the absence. He came up with nothing; couldn’t think of a thing much to his frustration. With far too much energy and no outlet, he began to walk.

He walked and walked, making a full two laps around the settlement’s path before realizing some might start to question his repetition. His unease only seemed to worsen in the notion, he did not wish for more elements to watch him; real ones added onto the imaginary. Restlessness and fatigue mingled for a peculiar combination, one he was familiar with and unfond of. Seeking a degree of peace, he slowed pace and settled on a destination.

Crossing the market square, now occupied and bustling with all sorts as the afternoon reached its peak, he paused merely a moment to return a greeting extending in passing and cut through a gap between two stalls. He descended the stairs leading into the small garden tucked out of the way, a space fondly labeled as ‘The Snail’. It was a name he couldn’t quite puzzle out at first, not until one of Khloe’s peers excitedly explained that the coiled shape of the center fountain resembled a snail’s shell. Right under his nose the whole time; he recalled the children half-guiding and half-pushing him along the curled path and later pulling him back up the steps to see the famed snail from a vantage point. He hadn’t doubted them but they had been extremely determined to provide the evidence for their claims and he could certainly respect that.

The fountain’s flow muffled the occasional noise from the market, quieting the area just enough to make it seem like a place apart from the rest of the settlement. Time could have reached a standstill and he would not have been surprised. It was as if an island apart from the mainland, a temporary reprieve in the solitary space; a shell to fill and call his own for a time. He crossed to the far edge where a balcony overlooked a chasm filled by seemingly endless forest and rested his hands against the stone ledge. Mist pooled far below, obscuring the blow and only punctured by the pines raising through. It looked every bit a world untouched, otherworldly and wonderous.

He watched for a time, tracking any movement that he could catch from the other world. The mist swirled in gales he could not feel and a bird’s call forewarned its take to flight. In a way, it soothed and led him to lean against the ledge, resting his elbows on the stone as he allowed his eyes to drift close. One breath and then another, steady and easy and taking very little of him. Then the weight once more, growing merciless in the lapse and indistinct silence, pressing down and pressing against his chest in cruel pressure. In the misery and fall, the gradual decompression where in each breath left him a little weaker than the last, as if his chest crumpled to fold in two and he knew not how to alleviate the burden. A stray thought amid the maddening stillness asked if he deserved to.

Strained breathing interrupted by an odd noise, neither gasp nor sob, signaled the end of his rope. His head dropped forward to the stinging in the corners of his eyes, torn between breaking down and berating himself for having no right to. Struggling to justify and make sense resulted only in more frustration. He curled his hand into a fist and struck the side against the stone, lashing out in muted aggression and feeling the burn of shame along with the pain that radiated from the ache in his hand.

A weight, tangible yet light, settled upon his shoulder. Delicate claws rested sharp yet delicate against his skin, barely dulled by the fabric of his tunic in the between. Raising his head in time to catch the languid recline of a slender tail along his neck, he glanced over to catch sight of the Father of Dragons so amiably perched upon his shoulder. The oddity of such a companionable gesture from a being so usually stoic tripped him out of his outburst. Lips parting soundlessly as he failed to form a question, confusion tangling up in the disturbance making itself home within his chest. Midgardsormr flicked a flared ear, gazed trained behind the warrior as he perched facing away from the overlook.

“ _Your… visitant hath come to make themself known, Bringer of Light._ ”

Brows furrowed in the rumbled announcement, a lack of understanding prompting a frown to flash across his features before he took the hint of a set gaze to follow it. As he turned around, Midgardsormr separated himself from the warrior’s shoulder, relocating to the balcony’s fence in an easy drift. The hero had not been sure what to expect but it was not what he found.

Surreal contrast in the garden’s verdant green against the dour black cloth and metal adornments of the intruder standing at a distance, he staggered back in delayed recognition, bumping against the stone that enclosed the balcony. Hand gripping the barrier in a white-knuckled hold, he watched the leer of the crimson mask regard him in silence, skin crawling as the carved scowl betrayed nothing of the paragon’s intentions underneath. He knew better than to expect anything less that malice from them and Lahabrea had more than the others he had dealt with. A quiet voice whispered that this paragon certainly had an abundance of it now with all that he had done to delay their schemes. A different voice cursed the unfortunate choice of going unarmed beyond a simple blade.

Heart pounding in his ears, he waited, expecting an unknown. All he received was some muttered line, too low for him to catch. Body tense, he pried his hand free from the railing, shifting his stance just slightly. Whatever may come, he was not about to give without a fight.

“What? What’d you say?”

“ _This_?” Lahabrea hissed.

As he was about to question again, the ascian generously elaborated. Throwing his arms wide in grand gesture, Lahabrea slowly turned about in a circle, motioning to the entirety as he proclaimed his exasperation, “This is it? What you have come to waste your time upon?!”

Hackles raised against the cruel tone, he struggled to follow and spared a glance towards Midgardsormr. The dragon watched in quiet consideration. Lahabrea’s arms dropped to hang limp at his sides, back turned upon him. The ascian was not yet finished.

“For all of your power and ability… You _beg_ . You beg _desperately_ for purpose through the asinine chores they grant you. You and all your accomplishments… _and still you beg_ . You, of all your kind… _You_ …”

The ravings of a madman befitted Lahabrea and yet his offense seemed far too personal for how little sense he made. Gritting his teeth as the ascian seemed more than prepared to continue, the warrior interjected.

“You’re the one. You’ve been watching me.”

“What else am I to do?!” Lahabrea whirled to face him, lips below the mask pulled into a glower just as cruel as the crimson visage above.

The unashamed confession was equal parts unnerving and relieving. In the least he could confirm that he had not been losing his mind, yet the opposite being that he had been followed by a malicious the whole time was little comfort. He shook off the gooseflesh prompted by the reveal, a scowl of his own twisting across his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Go back to doing whatever it is you bastards do!”

Hardly an articulate response and yet with his anger pricked, he couldn’t quite pull together the good sense for a better argument to shoo away the paragon. Unsurprisingly, it did little but further incite Lahabrea, getting another rise out of the ascian.

“I cannot do that,” he dictated, abrupt and final. The hero pulled a face at the reply.

“Why not?”

With the question came a period of silence. His unease built once more, steadily as he waited for Lahabrea to speak.

Finally, the Speaker spoke, “I cannot do so until I understand.”

Another frown, a weariness starting to grow, he was tempted to retort that he hoped the same. Lahabrea’s inquiry stopped him.

“Why did you spare me?”

He wasn’t grateful and that was the first trait he noticed of the question; there was a twinge within Lahabrea’s tone that suggested something he didn’t want to consider about his ilk. He hoped it was something he imagined.

The second came a moment after, a sinking sensation that accompanied the realization that he did not have an answer to what he asked and therefore no easy reply that would possibly get rid of the ascian. He mulled it over, a few passing moments spent with his gaze drifting to the side as he tried to muster up some decent answer.

He came up with nothing, a truth he admitted in reluctance, “I… don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Lahabrea echoed, unimpressed.

“I didn’t think about it,” he pressed, mouth finding familiar shape in a frown, “It’s not like there was time to think.”

It was then Lahabrea’s turn to consider, silent review before issuing his verdict, “You have time now.”

The warrior opened his mouth to speak and was denied.

“I will await your answer.”

Once again denied his voice, denied his answer, Lahabrea’s sudden departure robbed him of the opportunity. The void summoned by the paragon winking out of existence before he could protest. Left in confusion, the warrior’s stance relaxed gradually until he practically drooped in sudden exhaustion. All the malice he had come to expect seemed to have been traded for stubbornness.

Beside him and breaking his silence, Midgardsormr breathed meager commentary, seeming almost amused, “ _Miserable shade…_ ”

The hero raised a hand to his face, uttering a soft noise of acknowledgement. If Lahabrea was not, then he certainly made all else miserable instead.

* * *

He should have known by now not to entertain naive ideas such as it had been merely in jest that Lahabrea would remain and wait. There were some things he could not help but doubt and presuming the paragon was not so busy as to watch him further was one of them. He had hoped the ascian had greater things to occupy his time with. After how often and fondly they raved about the return of their lord, he figured Lahabrea would have had something to do in regards to that.

The hero wasn’t so lucky. Very little had come to change in the days that followed Lahabrea’s reveal, the ascian did not interfere directly. Instead he continued to watch from a distance, albeit with less effort spent to obscure himself from the warrior’s perception. Once indistinct glimpses had transitioned into crystal-clear clarity, there was no denying that Lahabrea lingered when he could turn and spy him in the distance with relative ease. He worked for distraction and yet this distracted him from work. It was beyond maddening.

There was little peace or focus to be found during the waking hours where he was never truly alone. A singular solace, he determined, was that Lahabrea did not seem to follow him into his room during the evenings. It did not however spare him from startling when he would find the ascian haunting the hallway in the morning. He had no desire to live any longer in the company of a spectre and resolved to tell Lahabrea as much.

It did not take long for the ascian to show himself as the warrior idled at The Snail once again. The fountain’s noise was almost enough to soothe some of his irritation before his guest appeared. A similar scene as the one before where he rested against the balcony and Lahabrea stood far out of reach. He turned from the abyss to address the other.

“Alright, this has to stop.”

“Have you reached your answer?”

Lahabrea’s impassive inquiry pricked his ire.

“Have I?”

“You have had ample time to reflect upon your reasoning.”

With an annoyed groan, he voiced his grievances, “Yeah? How am I supposed to _reflect_ like this? Hells, how am I supposed to take a piss when you won’t leave me alone!”

“You waste time that could be spent in better pursuits,” Lahabrea decided.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the bastard spending his time following someone around,” he scoffed.

“You have the means to be rid of me. I await your answer. Why did you save me?”

Swiping a hand through his hair in frustration, he spat an answer that was not completely false, “You were just the lesser of two evils.”

The lack of reaction encouraged him to explain and he struggled to make sense of his thoughts in real-time, “It’s just smart, picking the greater to deal with. You were defeated already, I had already gotten the other of you…”

“Igeyorhm,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Her name.”

He wasn’t sure what to say and the lapse in conversation made it all the more obvious. His gaze wandered, breaking away as he reorganized his thoughts. The mention of his colleague seemed to subdue Lahabrea, a creeping quiet overcoming the ascian. It allowed him the chance to think that he so desperately desired.

“The Archbishop was the greater threat and allowing him to prey upon you wouldn’t have benefited me. It seemed like the best option.”

To himself, the logic was sound. Yet the lack of reaction from Lahabrea had him second-guessing. He wasn’t keen on learning what would happen if Lahabrea deemed his answer less than desirable but he assumed it might just come to pass. The silence had him fidgeting.

“Look,” he interjected, speaking frankly when the quiet became too much to bear, “In more or less the same words, you told me to make my choice and live with it.”

The subtle frown that crossed Lahabrea’s face below the mask had him wondering.

“You don’t remember,” he said to a lack of reaction. Nodding slowly, the hero moved along, “Well, I made my choice. I live with it. You made your choice. Are you going to live with it?”

Rather than answer, Lahabrea asked instead, “Why haven’t you killed me?”

The question struck, blunt and heavy, forcing an unexpected huff out of him. He stammered, unarticulate as he sought out a reply. It was slow coming, delayed as he struggled through the oddity that these exchanges were. He disliked Lahabrea’s tone and how it was almost disappointed, not quite fully committed to the expression.

“Well, I’m not armed at the moment,” he nearly laughed, humorless and awkward.

Lahabrea hummed, a noncommittal noise so terribly quiet he nearly missed it.

“So…” The hero began, venturing hopefully into unknown territory, “Are you… content with those answers? Are you going to leave?”

“If you were armed, would you do it?” Another question in place of an answer and Lahabrea watched him with a slack mouth.

“Do what?”

“Kill me,” he clarified without hesitation.

His face pulled into a grimace before he school it into neutrality. He offered a delayed reply, “I…”

“You don’t know,” Lahabrea proposed and the hero looked away. With a quiet sound, not quite a sigh but strange nonetheless, the ascian decided, “You have time. I will await your answer here.”

And once more did Lahabrea depart before the hero could reply, leaving him to be suspicious of whether or not he wished to answer that question.

* * *

Lahabrea proved to be an ascian of his word, albeit he required the other party to first puzzle out what his words exactly meant. The hero determined easily enough that he was no longer being watched; the unease subsided and any attempts to locate the paragon at watch in the distance proved pointless. After he finished his duties for the day, a detour and cursory glance confirmed that Lahabrea haunted the garden space. From his vantage point on the staircase behind the markets, he found the familiar dark robes lingering beside the fountain, utterly motionless.

He watched for a moment longer and pulled back when the odd twinge of sadness reared its head. The concept of standing idle was still something he preferred to not perceive. He supposed that was his reasoning for wandering into the garden later in the afternoon, entering the space through the back entrance of the tavern. He supposed that he felt sorry for him.

“Have you reached your answer?”

Immediate and expectant, Lahabrea regarded the hero as he passed by to approach the overlook. To the hero’s surprise, the ascian followed although remained a few paces behind.

“Still don’t know,” the hero remarked to Lahabrea’s disappointment.

“What is there to know in would or would not? It is a far more simple question than the first I presented,” he insisted, a bit of attitude that seemed to better suit him than the pervading melancholy that surrounded him.

“Suppose that I want to know why you seem to want me to,” he replied, leaning his forearms against the barrier. He didn’t expect an answer or at least a decent one.

“I see no other alternative,” Lahabrea stated, a confession the warrior had not wanted.

He turned his head to gaze over his shoulder, watching the figure stand slack beyond his reach. A subtle frown pulled at his face as Lahabrea mumbled a continuation.

“I have met with countless failures over eons and with each one more I find that I can no longer bring myself to act. My failures have cost far more than I could ever hope to pay in recompense. The others paid for my blunders.”

“The others?”

“Igeyorhm and Nabriales,” Lahabrea confirmed, a distantness in his tone as he spoke, “They were incomplete. They were my responsibility.”

His brow furrowed, finding less sense in the ascian’s mumbling as he carried on, “What do you mean by ‘incomplete’?”

“Ah,” Lahabrea uttered, turning his head to look at the warrior rather than gaze out over the cliff. “You do not know.”

“That seems to be a theme,” he mumbled dryly.

“Allow me to enlighten you,” The paragon offered, cocking his head to the side as he regarded the warrior. “The tale of a better age. The tale of a completed star.”

He would have been lying had he said he was not the least bit interested. Folding his arms across his chest, he cautiously settled in and leaned against the barrier as Lahabrea began to share his perception of a world beyond mortal comprehension. He left out not a single detail or so the warrior assumed by how intently he elaborated.

It was a tale both wondrous and tragic. He knew from the start that the ending would leave much to be desired and yet that merely made the fleeting smile Lahabrea adopted as he reminisced upon times he found much sweeter all the more brutal to witness. After a time, he merely closed his eyes and listened.

When Lahabrea drew to his conclusion and the warrior opened his eyes, the sunset began to paint the sky above.

“For them and for my God, I would do anything. I would do everything. And yet with every failure, I am reminded further of my inadequacy. As I am now, to have purpose and be unable to fulfill it, I am of no use.”

The ache in his chest seemed misplaced, a severe throb for a similarity he would sooner ignore. They could not compare. They were not equivalent. He hoped so selfishly to never reach his level. Distance and disconnect, choking down the ache in his chest as Lahabrea returned his gaze to him.

“Can you understand? Now knowing what I know and what I have shared, can you understand?”

He could understand and yet without hesitation, he looked onto the visage built upon absolute misery and in a tone so horrendously gentle, so heavily laced with well intention, spoke words so laden in disillusion that they could do little but contradict. Callous and patronizing sentiment to the soul it did regard, the subtle twist of his lips to smile ruefully, as if to lessen the weight of the notion he presented to sunken, carved eyes seeking him so intently.

“Everyone has lost something.”

There was no comfort. He did not intend any. There was no healing. He doubted there was anything to heal. There was no awakening; no grand realization that would drastically alter his perception. He would have been a fool to expect as much from his antagonist. He had intended very little and received even less. He looked into the face of a man long-since abandoned, long-since dead, and long-since forgotten and saw only desolation. To stare at nothing at all would have gathered the same results; the same discomfort of knowing something should be yet was not.

“I have lost everything.”

To this broken belief he yielded, unable to dispute what was beyond him. He supposed emptiness befitted them better than most. Skinned of bravado and ego, Lahabrea’s hollowness was all the more blatant. He turned away from misery made manifest, looking over the chasm that yawned beyond the railing. The hero perceived no difference between his company and the abyss below.

“For what it's worth,” he began despite the bitterness that settled upon his tongue; despite knowing the waste of air it was to speak empty words, “I’m sorry.”

Empty words befitted empty people, he supposed and yet he wondered if Lahabrea could even yet qualify as a person. There was so very left to him, if anything at all. He only knew the shade remained near by the subdued reply.

“It is worth nothing.”

“That it is,” he swallowed the clot in his throat, an agreement.

He wasn’t sure where to go from there, uncertain of what to say if anything at all. Eventually, as the silence grew while the sun’s descent defined the passage of time, he decided to leave. Stepping back before beginning to turn, he heard the soft shuffle of Lahabrea turning his hood to watch him depart. Neither spoke as the hero left him at the edge and retired for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> hi my name is silly bone and i've never learned to finish something on time
> 
> i just need a lil nap i swear and then this thing will be conquered
> 
> this will also be reviewed and combed through for spelling errors later as well so i apologize for any stray bugs


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